


Sweater Wars

by paenteom



Category: Pacific Rim
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hanukkah, M/M, Ugly Festive Wear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 07:12:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5530568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paenteom/pseuds/paenteom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann takes his fashion illiteracy to new, festive levels. Newt is forced to retaliate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweater Wars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ciwpid](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ciwpid).



> This is my Pacific Rim holiday swap present for ciwpid, who asked for established relationship fic with an ugly Hanukkah sweater contest. I loved this prompt and I hope my giftee likes their present as much as I liked writing it. :)

When Hermann entered the lab on the morning of December 11th Newt stopped dead in his tracks. His syringe slipped out of his hand and clattered onto his desk as he stared at Hermann, open-mouthed and incredulous.

"What is that," he eventually managed to wheeze out, pointing an accusing finger in Hermann's direction. 

"Tea", Hermann said, sounding puzzled. He lifted his mug for emphasis. 

"No shit," Newt said. "I'm not referring to your leaf water, I'm talking about the monstrosity currently covering your torso." 

Hermann glanced downwards for a second and then immediately turned back to his desk with an air of nonchalance that completely betrayed the gravity of this situation. 

"It's a Hanukkah sweater," he said, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world. 

Newt was speechless. He closed his eyes and opened them again just to make sure that he wasn't dreaming but the picture in front of him remained the same. Hermann had foregone his usual sweater vest and tweed jacket for a woolly abomination with an all over Menorah print. It was bright yellow, it was definitely and undeniably fuzzy, and most importantly it was ugly as original sin. Which was ironic because that concept doesn't even exist in Judaism. Hermann's Hanukkah sweater was so ugly it broke the laws of Jewishness. 

Newt was unsure how to convey the magnitude of his disapproval for Hermann's life choices. Didn't he know that Newt was the only person in this lab who was allowed to make ugly fashion statements? He continued the silent staring game for several minutes while Hermann remained blissfully unaware of the scrutiny he was under. 

Eventually he settled on "Um, what the hell." Simple, yet effective. 

Hermann looked up from whatever nerdy shit he was engrossed in. His eyebrows did the thing where they made him look like that aunt who always tuts at you when you rest your elbows on the table during family dinners. 

"If you're trying to communicate," he said, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to use more words." 

"It's December 11th," Newt said. This didn't even touch the laundry list of things wrong with The Sweater but it was a good start. 

"If Tendo is allowed to make us sit through his Christmas mix in the mess hall from November onwards I can wear my Hanukkah sweater a few days early," Hermann said. 

"It's neon yellow," Newt said. There was an edge of desperation in his voice that Hermann seemed mysteriously oblivious to. 

"That it is," he agreed, sounding entirely too jolly for Newt's liking. "I'm glad your powers of observation are still as sharp as ever." 

He turned back to his desk and within seconds he was too engrossed in his numbers to notice that Newt was having a silent breakdown about five feet away from him. He was almost positive The Sweater was literally hurting his eyes at this point, although that might just be the fact that he hadn't blinked in approximately 37 seconds. It felt like as soon as he took his eyes off that thing it was going to come alive and eat him and Hermann both (and then where would the PPDC be? He briefly considered reporting The Sweater as a lab safety violation). 

To Newt's disappointment, it did not mysteriously disappear during Hermann's lunch hour. It didn't magically transform into something that hurt Newt's delicate sensibilities less either. The Sweater was here to stay. 

Around dinner time Newt had decided that this meant war. In the mess hall he loaded his tray up with ammunition (ketchup packages) and chose the strategic seat directly next to Hermann as opposed to opposite him. He briefly mourned the loss of their daily footsie session but alas, sacrifices had to be made in war times. 

Hermann seemed entirely oblivious to Newt's devious plan as he carefully speared each piece of pasta on his fork individually in that peculiar way of his. Newt almost felt guilty. 

Almost. A single glance out of the corner of his eyes at the yellow monstrosity he had vowed to destroy immediately brought those thoughts to a grinding halt. Mercy had no place in warfare. He was doing this for the greater good and humanity in general would thank him for it. 

He counted down from five in his head and then slammed down his soda bottle onto the pile of ketchup packages, hard. They exploded open, splattering both him and Hermann in red goo. 

Hermann shrieked indignantly. 

"What is wrong with you," he spluttered, frantically grasping for napkins to wipe the ketchup off. It was too late. The stuff had already seeped deep into the fuzzy fiber of The Sweater, staining the entire left arm red. 

"Sorry," Newt said. "Wasn't looking." 

He couldn't help but sound smug. Operation 'Save Hermann From Himself' was a complete success. He would be able to sleep soundly tonight. 

Hermann refused to talk to him for the rest of the evening, but at night, when all thoughts of sweaters lay forgotten at the bottom of the washing basket, he slipped under Newt's covers and curled around him anyway. Newt gently carded his fingers through Hermann's hair and decided to forgive him for his fashion trespass. 

The next sweater was neon blue and even fuzzier than the first one. In bright white letters the front spelled out HAPPY CHANNUKKAH. Newt was fuming. Of all the convoluted, ridiculous ways to spell Hanukkah, they had to go with the stupidest one. It felt like a personal affront to everything he stood for. 

Hermann was re-calibrating his projector, completely oblivious to the fact that Newt was brewing up a dark, resentful storm cloud in in the doorway to their lab. The presence of The Sweater 2.0 felt like an actual barrier preventing him from entering it, like their lab had suddenly been occupied by hostile forces. It was emanating a dark energy; Newt could smell it.

Clearly sabotage wasn't gonna cut it. Hermann's determination to be an unfashionable disaster in the face of onslaughts of ketchup called for a change in strategy. Newt sauntered over to his work station as if absolutely nothing was amiss and booted up his laptop. This was a problem that only the power of online shopping could solve. 

He sat through the next two days which featured a burgundy vest with an all over dreidel print and a sweater with big sewn on yarn bobbles representing candle light in uncharacteristic silence, patiently refreshing his PPDC email account for a package notice. 

On the morning of the first day of Hanukkah the lab smelt like _Berliner_ and candle wax. Hermann was quietly humming to himself when Newt entered the lab, his usual deep scowl replaced with something akin to contentment. He turned when he heard Newt's footsteps.

"What do you think?" Newt said as he spun around to show his newest purchase off. "Snazzy, am I right?"

The sweater was so big that he was almost drowning in it. It was red with an all-over _Kartoffelpuffer_ print and proclaimed "Love, Peace and Latke Grease" in eye searing yellow letters on the front. 

He was so ready to drink in the return of Hermann's familiar scowl, but it didn't come. Instead Hermann's face lit up like he was part of the festival and he started to chuckle. 

"Good one," he said. "You'll have to lend it to me next year."

Newt had been prepared for the sweet taste of victory but not for whatever this was. Hermann hated his stupid slogan shirts! He thought they were unprofessional and that Newt only wore them to vex him specifically (he wasn't wrong). Usually at this point his disapproval would have been thick enough that you could cut it with a knife. Last year Newt had worn a shirt proclaiming that there was a fine line between the numerator and the denominator and Hermann had yelled at him for 20 minutes.

But there was no yelling, no derisive sniffing, not even a dirty look in his direction. Instead Hermann just went back to humming and borderline smiling. The sweater didn't come up once. During his lunch break he even let Newt have the last jelly doughnut. 

While sucking jam from his fingers Newt decided that his sweater clearly just wasn't ridiculous enough. It could barely compete with the blue and yellow cardigan covered in little Stars of David that Hermann was sporting today. Clearly it was time to turn it up a notch.

Later, when they were curled up on Hermann's bunk bed watching nature documentaries, Hermann said "I didn't know you practiced."

"Oh," Newt said. "I don't really, I guess. I mean, you go through the motions because that's what your family does and you don't question it much as a kid, right? But I pretty much stopped bothering when I moved out."

"Hm," Hermann hummed. His fingers sneaked under the hem of Newt's jumper to stroke over the ink on his collarbone.

"What about you?" Newt said. "I didn't take you for the spiritual sort. Don't think I ever saw you celebrate passover or Rosh Hashana or Yom Kippur or, y'know, any of the ones that matter more than Hanukkah does."

"Ah," Hermann said. "Yes, well, I didn't think of myself as spiritual either, to be quite honest. This is actually the first time that I have observed a religious holiday in quite some time."

His gaze traveled to the menorah on his desk bathing the room in gentle, orange light.

"It seemed apropos, I suppose," he said. He sounded sad somehow. 

"To remind myself that there will always be life among all this death."

Newt didn't say anything. He did however press a soft kiss against Hermann's temple, and that seemed to be enough.

He snuck out of Hermann's room early the next morning to fetch his piece of resistance from his room. He was absolutely positive that Hermann was going to flip the second he laid eyes on it. The territory of ironically ugly clothing would finally be his and his alone again, especially as Hermann didn't even appreciate the irony in any way. He just legitimately enjoyed looking like an idiot for some reason (Newt refused to admit it was charming).

He counted down from 10 before entering the lab that day and indulged in a little drum roll for himself to sweeten the moment of victory. Then he dramatically swung open the door.

Several things were wrong with the picture that greeted him. Hermann was eating his latke with ketchup of all things, for one. He was doing so with his fingers instead of using cutlery when he usually yelled at Newt for that, for another. Most importantly however there was a distinct lack of immediate anger directed at Newt. 

Instead he just acknowledged him with a nod and a smile and went back to terrorizing his food with condiments that should never touch it. 

Newt was floored. He was wearing a sweatshirt which was unprofessional lab attire. Said sweatshirt featured a menorah print and the words 'So Light 'Em Up, Up, Up' above it, which was a contemporary pop culture reference. He had foregone his tie. It was the perfect storm of all things Hermann hated about the way he dressed. And yet, nothing. Null. Nada. Not even a disapproving grunt. 

Was there nothing that could faze Hermann Gottlieb when it came to festive attire? Had Newt finally found the one thing he wouldn't get unnecessarily angry over? Was this where Dr. "I Once Refused To Talk To Newt Geiszler Because He Said The Millennium Falcon Would Beat The Enterprise" Gottlieb, PhD, drew the line? Apparently. More importantly, Newt supposed, this wasn't exactly the hill he wanted to die on. The Millennium Falcon vs. Enterprise issue was more important than this.

"Alright," Newt said. "I give up. You win."

"I wasn't aware we were having a competition," Hermann said. His brows wrinkled in that cute way of his where his entire forehead got all wrinkly too like a piece of paper you had crumpled up and smoothed out again.

"Your Hanukkah wear is cooler than mine," Newt said simply. "I admit it. That dreidel cardigan? Hot. 'You spin me round like a record' is the superior pop music reference for sure."

"Oh, is that where your sudden zeal for festive wear came from?" Hermann said. "You could have just said so. I would have lent you one of my sweaters."

"How many do you have of these things?" Newt said. Immediately after he decided he didn't actually want to know. He plopped down on Hermann's desk and took the disapproving jab of Hermann's cane in stride, grateful that some things never changed after all.

He still ended up sitting in front of Hermann's closet covered in clothes hours later. It turned out that said closet was an absolute haven of ugly, themed knitwear. Newt held up a woolen sock covered in stars of David in awe. 

"Where the hell did you get all this stuff, dude?" he asked.

"Co-workers, mostly, "Hermann said. "They don't really know what else to gift me, I suppose. I never complain. They're pretty effective at fending off people trying to wish me a merry Christmas."

Newt laughed. He extricated himself from the pile of sweaters, cardigans and vests and crawled on Hermann's lap instead.

"Trying to keep people at a distance, are you?" he said, gently nudging Hermann's nose with his own.

"Most people," Hermann said, quiet and warm, a tone of voice he reserved for Newt alone.

Newt kissed him. And then he did it again. And again. By the fourth time Hermann was smiling into the kiss, the corners of his mouth turning up in that lopsided way of his. Newt took a second to admire the way Hermann's eyes got all crinkly when he was truly happy and another second to bask in the fact that he got to see it on a regular basis, and then kissed him again.

His fingers wiggled their way under Hermann's shirt to stroke the soft skin underneath and he noted the quiet hum Hermann gave with satisfaction. 

"You know," Hermann said when they broke apart for breath, "if you were trying to divest me of my sweaters you could have tried this strategy from the beginning. I'm quite amenable to it."

Newt laughed, and kissed him again, and took him at his word.


End file.
